"I would never say such a thing."
"I know, so I said it for you. But that is the ugliest piece of fru-fru I've ever laid eyes on."
"If you, Ms. Blake, have any better suggestions, then I am all ears." She half crossed her arms over her chest. The offending piece of "decoration" trailed nearly to her waist.
"It's huge," I protested.
"It will hide your"--she set her mouth tight--"scar."
I felt like applauding. She'd said the dirty word. Did I have any better suggestions? No. I did not. I sighed. "Put it on me. The least I can do is look at it."
She smiled. "Please lift your hair."
I did as I was told. She fastened it around my neck. The lace itched, the ribbons tickled, and I didn't even want to look in the mirror. I raised my eyes, slowly, and just stared.
"Thank goodness you have long hair. I'll style it myself the day of the wedding so it helps the camouflage."
The thing around my neck looked like a cross between a dog collar and the world's biggest wrist corsage. My neck had sprouted pink ribbons like mushrooms after a rain. It was hideous, and no amount of hairstyling was going to change that. But it hid the scar completely, perfectly. Ta-da.
I just shook my head. What could I say? Mrs. Cassidy took my silence for assent. She should have known better. The phone rang and saved us both. "I'll be just a minute, Ms. Blake." She stalked off, high-heels silent on the thick carpet.
I just stared at myself in the mirrors. My hair and eyes match, black hair, eyes so dark brown they look black. They are my mother's Latin darkness. But my skin is pale, my father's Germanic blood. Put some makeup on me and I look not unlike a china doll. Put me in a puffy pink dress and I look delicate, dainty, petite. Dammit.
The rest of the women in the wedding party were all five-five or above. Maybe some of them would actually look good in the dress. I doubted it.
Insult to injury, we all had to wear hoop skirts underneath. I looked like a reject from Gone With the Wind.
"There, don't you look lovely." Mrs. Cassidy had returned. She was beaming at me.
"I look like I've been dipped in Pepto-Bismol," I said.
Her smile faded around the edges. She swallowed. "You don't like this last idea." Her voice was very stiff.
Elsie Markowitz came out of the dressing rooms. Kasey was trailing behind, scowling. I knew how she felt. "Oh, Anita," Elsie said, "you look adorable."
Great. Adorable, just what I wanted to hear. "Thanks."
"I especially like the ribbons at your throat. We'll all be wearing them, you know."
"Sorry about that," I said.
She frowned at me. "I think they just set off the dress."
It was my turn to frown. "You're serious, aren't you?"
Elsie looked puzzled. "Well, of course I am. Don't you like the dresses?"
I decided not to answer on the grounds that it might piss someone off. I guess, what can you expect from a woman who has a perfectly good name like Elizabeth, but prefers to be named after a cow?
"Is this the absolutely last thing we can use for camouflage, Mrs. Cassidy?" I asked.
She nodded, once, very firmly.
I sighed, and she smiled. Victory was hers, and she knew it. I knew I was beaten the moment I saw the dress, but if I'm going to lose, I'm going to make someone pay for it. "All right. It's done. This is it. I'll wear it."
Mrs. Cassidy beamed at me. Elsie smiled. Kasey smirked. I hiked the hoop skirt up to my knees and stepped off the platform. The hoop swung like a bell with, me as the clapper.
The phone rang. Mrs. Cassidy went to answer it, a lift in her step, a song in her heart, and me out of her shop. Joy in the afternoon.
I was struggling to get the wide skirt through the narrow little door that led to the changing rooms when she called, "Ms. Blake, it's for you. A Detective Sergeant Storr."
"See, Mommy, I told you she was a policewoman," Kasey said.
I didn't explain because Elsie had asked me not to, weeks ago. She thought Kasey was too young to know about animators and zombies and vampire slayings. Not that any child of eight could not know what a vampire was. They were pretty much the media event of the decade.
I tried to put the phone to my left ear, but the damned flowers got in the way. Pressing the receiver in the bend of my neck and shoulder, I reached back to undo the collar. "Hi, Dolph, what's up?"
"Murder scene." His voice was pleasant, like he should sing tenor.
"What kind of murder scene?"
"Messy."
I finally pulled the collar free and dropped the phone.
"Anita, you there?"
"Yeah, having some wardrobe trouble."
"What?"
"It's not important. Why do you want me to come down to the scene?"
"Whatever did this wasn't human."
"Vampire?"
"You're the undead expert. That's why I want you to come take a look."
"Okay, give me the address, and I'll be right there." There was a notepad of pale pink paper with little hearts on it. The pen had a plastic cupid on the end of it. "St. Charles, I'm not more than fifteen minutes from you."
"Good." He hung up.
"Good-bye to you, too, Dolph." I said it to empty air just to feel superior. I went back into the little room to change.
I had been offered a million dollars today, just to kill someone and raise a zombie. Then off to the bridal shop for a final fitting. Now a murder scene. Messy, Dolph had said. It was turning out to be a very busy afternoon.
Chapter 3
Messy, Dolph had called it. A master of understatement. Blood was everywhere, splattered over the white walls like someone had taken a can of paint and thrown it. There was an off-white couch with brown and gold patterned flowers on it. Most of the couch was hidden under a sheet. The sheet was crimson. A bright square of afternoon sunlight came through the clean, sparkling windows. The sunlight made the blood cherry-red, shiny.
Fresh blood is really brighter than you see it on television and the movies. In large quantities. Real blood is screaming fire-engine red, in large quantities, but darker red shows up on the screen better. So much for realism.
Only fresh blood is red, true red. This blood was old and should have faded, but some trick of the summer sunshine kept it shiny and new.
I swallowed very hard and took a deep breath.
"You look a little green, Blake," a voice said almost at my elbow.
I jumped, and Zerbrowski laughed. "Did I scare ya?"
"No," I lied.
Detective Zerbrowski was about five-seven, curly black hair going grey, dark-rimmed glasses framed brown eyes. His brown suit was rumpled; his yellow and maroon tie had a smudge on it, probably from lunch. He was grinning at me. He was always grinning at me.
"I gotcha, Blake, admit it. Is our fierce vampire slayer gonna upchuck on the victims?"
"Putting on a little weight there, aren't you, Zerbrowski?"
"Ooh, I'm hurt," he said. He clutched hands to his chest, swaying a little. "Don't tell me you don't want my body, the way I want yours."
"Lay off, Zerbrowski. Where's Dolph?"
"In the master bedroom." Zerbrowski gazed up at the vaulted ceiling with its skylight. "Wish Katie and I could afford something like this."
"Yeah," I said. "It's nice." I glanced at the sheet-covered couch. The sheet clung to whatever was underneath, like a napkin thrown over spilled juice. There was something wrong with the way it looked. Then it hit me, there weren't enough bumps to make a whole human body. Whatever was under there was missing some parts.
The room sort of swam. I looked away, swallowing convulsively. It had been months since I had actually gotten sick at a murder scene. At least the air-conditioning was on. That was good. Heat always makes the smell worse.
"Hey, Blake, do you really need to step outside?" Zerbrowski took my arm as if to lead me towards the door.
"Thanks, but I'm fine." I looked him straight in his baby browns and lied. He knew I was lying. I wasn't all right, but I'd make it.
He released my arm, stepped back, and gave me a mock salute. "I love a tough broad."
I smiled before I could stop it. "Go away, Zerbrowski."
"End of the hall, last door on the left. You'll find Dolph there." He walked away into the crowd of men. There are always more people than you need at a murder scene, not the gawkers outside but uniforms, plainclothes, technicians, the guy with the video camera. A murder scene was like a bee swarm, full of frenzied movement and damn crowded. I threaded my way through the crowd. My plastic-coated ID badge was clipped to the collar of my navy-blue jacket. It was so the police would know I was on their side and hadn't just snuck in. It also made carrying a gun into a crowd of policemen safer.